Fighting Fire with Fire
by C.K.isback
Summary: What happens when a man Katniss thought she would never see again, someone who she had long tried to forget, appears on her doorstep five years later? Nothing that she would categorize as "good," that's for sure. AU, KxG
1. An Unexpected Visitor

**Fighting Fire with Fire**

**A/N: Hey guys! It's C.K. Don't really know where I'm going with this story - if I continue, it will probably be about five chapters or so. Make sure to leave a review if you want me to continue!…Onward!**

_Interesting theory, Plurtach. But I don't really know if that would be possible to even pass - too brutal, too Snow-like -_

"Katniss?"

My fingers halt their rhythmic clacking on the keyboard, and I close the computer in front of me - a present from Plurtach, who insists everyone involved with the new government keep in touch with him through email.

"Yeah, Peet?" I say, sighing. It has been a long day - made even longer with Peeta's constant (though unintentional) interruptions of my work. It isn't his fault, really - he was packing to go to some big conference down in Thirteen, and is not the best at remembering where he puts his things. Then again, I am not the best at remembering either, but usually between the two of us we can recall where we placed it.

"The hover plane is leaving in thirty minutes," he says, smiling, "Just wanted to have a last goodbye kiss."

I smile too, even though I'm tired and this really isn't the time for kissing, and get up out of my chair. My back hurts from sitting there so long, and I don't want anything more than to just go outside so I can get away from work and computers and lost items.

I give him a quick peck on the lips, wrapping my arms around his neck and hugging him tight. "I'll miss you," I say quietly.

"I'll miss you more," he states, and my heart hurts because I know this is not false.

The truth is, Peeta and I have grown further apart after the ending of the Rebellion, not closer. With everyone gone and just us two, it had felt right to be together at the time. We were the one thing we had that hadn't disappeared. But I don't want a family and a home life, cooking meals every day and staying home with the kids, while Peeta does. We're just not compatible. Friends, but not lovers. There is no spark anymore, and we both know it. We just choose to ignore it, to go on living our life in the same repetitive motions, always seeming to miss each other. It's just easier this way.

"Have a good time, okay?" I say, affectionately smoothing his mussed hair back down onto his head.

He rolls his eyes, grinning. "Like that will happen. I just wish you could come."

But we both know that I have to much work here, at home. Rebuilding District Twelve is not an easy task, not like anyone ever pretended it was. It has been five years since it burned down, and there is still so much work to do. But my home means more to me than a conference about District Three's water supply, and I don't care who knows. I am not the Mockingjay anymore, nor do I pretend to be. Sure, I want to help repair our broken government, to get things on the right track. But somehow, the past has come to mean more than the future, and District Twelve is what I need right now.

Peeta gives me one long, last look, a ghost of a smile still on his lips, then picks up his bags and walks out into the soft evening sun.

I sigh as the door slams shut, sitting down on our couch and closing my eyes. I really should finish that email I was sending to Plurtach, but I'm too tired to care. I have worked hard enough - heck, I have worked my whole life. I deserve to rest sometimes.

Before I can debate this any further, I find myself dozing off, drifting toward the point where even if I wanted to get up and finish the email, I wouldn't be able to. Warm, comforting sleep envelopes me, and I greet it with opened arms. I have my first nightmare in weeks, much to my dismay. I have never had many dreams ever since the Rebellion ended, but when I do, they are nightmares. Horrible, terrifying nightmares, full of the faces of people I loved. Snippets of the Games flash in my mind. I see myself in The Arena once more, crying over Rue's dead body. Watching as Thresh smashes Clove's head in with a rock. Hearing Cato's piteous cries all through the night as the mutts rip and tear at his flesh. Sometimes the things after the Games are even more gruesome - the Rebellion. President Snow, reeking of the smell of blood and roses. Finnick's face as the mutts advanced on him. And worst of all: watching as the bomb explodes, enveloping Prim in a bright orange starburst before she even knew what was happening, burned forever in my brain.

The scariest thing, though, is that all of them have happened at some point in my life. All of them are real.

When I wake up, it is to the sound of screaming - my own. I'm shouting Prim's name, over and over, and it takes me a few seconds to stop. I'm sweating and shaking, my fingers clenched so hard in the fabric of the chair that they almost rip through. The dream is already fading, but I can still recall it. It is one of my reoccurring dreams, one that I have had many times in the years since the Rebellion.

_Prim stands at the edge of a cliff, dressed in her blue Reaping dress, her feet bare and toes clenching the edges of the ground. In front of her is only mist, shrouding everything in front of the cliff in shades of grey and white. Mist curls around her feet, tendrils caressing up her legs. It makes it impossible to see the bottom of the cliff. _

_It is eerily quiet, no animal sounds in the bushes, or birds chirping above. Even Prim is silent, though I can see her chest rise and fall steadily with each breath she inhales. We stand there for a long time, just looking into the mist. I try to discern something - anything - to no avail. _

"_A beautiful view, isn't it, Katniss?" she finally remarks, staring dreamily over the cliff, as if she is seeing something I'm not._

"_What do you mean?" I ask._

_She looks confused, but still at ease. "Can't you see it?" she asks, staring at me as if I am a small child that doesn't know the ways of the world yet. Prim points to the horizon._

_And when I turn to look back, the mist has been removed. In its place is fire, fire burning everywhere. _

_I shriek, scrambling back. Prim laughs lightly._

"_It won't hurt you," she explains. "Not if you stay here."_

_Suddenly, a voice calls out from the fire, and I am able to just make out a figure standing right at the bottom of the cliff, engulfed in flames. With a start, I realize it is Gale._

"_Jump!" he yells up to us. "Jump, Prim!"_

_By now, I am panicking. Why is Gale down there? Why is he on fire?_

_Prim turns to look at me, blue eyes relaxed and serene._

"_Bye, Katniss," she says. "Take good care of Buttercup."_

_And with that, she jumps into the flames._

The ringing of the doorbell snaps me out of my reverie, and I scramble off of the couch. I take my time walking over to the door. It is probably just Peeta, coming back for another forgotten item.

Giving a heavy sigh, I yank open the door.

But standing in front of me is not Peeta.

Instead, Gale Hawthorne stands casually at my doorstep.

"Hey, Catnip," he says quietly, a smile on his face. "Long time no see."

**Sorry if that was a bit awkward - I'm still trying to figure this out. If you liked it, or liked it enough to favorite, review!**


	2. Sorry

**I'm going to fess up right now that Gale is sometimes going to be OC - it's not because I don't know Gale, but I feel like over the years, after Katniss told him to go away, he changed. Further explanation in one of these chapters.**

**Another note: I plan to have this story be a bit funny, and not always serious. Just a heads up. **

**Thanks to all reviewers! You brightened my day and made me feel totally awesome! *High fives all of you***

**Onward!**

I can feel my mouth move, my jaw working up and down. I want to say a million things at once: Where have you been? Why did you never call or write? Are you married? Do you have children? Why did you leave me alone all these years?

And most of all: I'm sorry.

But still, no sound except for a small, high-pitched "Eeee…" comes out. Gale's smile brightens at the noise.

"Still as responsive as ever!" he says brightly, walking through the door and into the living room. With a start, I realize he has two suitcases slung over his back.

"What…what…" I point to the suitcases. God, I'm an idiot. He'll think I grew soft over the years. And he rightfully should, seeing as for some reason I'm having a hard time stringing a sentence together.

He glances down at his bags. "Oh, yeah…can I stay the night?" he asks, already putting down his bags on the couch, as if automatically assuming I would say yes.

"No," I say icily, just to aggravate him. I would not be taken advantage of, even if I really wouldn't mind more time with him - at least time to catch up. I desperately want to know what he was doing, why he was here. The word "wife" echoes eerily in my head.

Gale sighs, plopping down on the couch and staring curiously at me. "I won't tell _him_, you know," he says bitterly, his eyes flickering over to the picture on the mantle of me and Peeta, our arms around each other, smiling at the camera. "No one would ever know."

I bristle at the tone of his voice - full of hatred, yet a certain pleading that made me want to just give in. It was so damn confusing - Gale has changed, I can see that after two minutes, and it is hard to figure out. "Why do hate him so much, still?" I ask, glaring at him as I push his bags to the floor - he is definitely not staying now.

Gale sighs. "Look," he says. "I know this is weird for you, but I need a place to stay while I'm here in Twelve."

So he is not here to see me. My heart gives a little twinge at that. "Why are you in Twelve, then?" I ask. "I thought it was too painful for you to be here."

He flinches a bit at my words, but stands his ground. "Nostalgia," he mutters, looking away from me, at the picture of me and Peeta. "To rehash old memories."

He has not changed so much that I cannot tell that he is lying. It is blatantly obvious in his face, something I remember from all those years. Just a look - like he feels sick. And he always sighs after he finishes lying. It's funny. After five years, and with so much changes that I can see in less than five minutes, some things remain the same.

I decide not to press him for the truth. At least, not yet. I am still trying to figure out this new Gale.

"Why me?" I ask. "Rory lives right down the street." He had moved here with his family five years ago, and we had become good friends. Not like me and Gale, though.

Gale blows out more air, but manages to look at me. "Because I wanted to see you too, Catnip." His eyes aren't guarded like they had been. They are openly full of hurt. "Frankly, my life isn't the same without you."

"Mine too," I find myself whispering before I can stop. I look away, down at the floor, to keep the tears from coming from my eyes. It has been like this for a while - just sporadic moments when I really, truly miss him. I miss us hunting. Miss his smile. What he has done to Prim might be irreversible, but us having been best friends isn't either.

Everything is quiet for a moment. I can feel his eyes boring into me, but I still look down, searching for patterns in the frayed carpet, counting the ticks of the clock on the wall.

I've counted seventeen before he speaks again. "Hell," he mutters. "You just make me feel so damn guilty."

I look up at him, and he looks back, just staring. Twelve more clock ticks.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, so quietly that I can barely hear it.

He nods. "But I'm sorrier."

Eight more ticks. He gives a long sigh, shaking his head slightly as if to rid himself of the regrets and bad thoughts.

"How would you like to go out?" he finally says, already standing up and striding over to me. "Some place fun, where we can just hang out."

I have never been out in my life, and wasn't about to start partying. "No, I-"

I'm cut off as he pulls me up, keeping a firm grip on my arm as he steers me toward the door.

"Katniss, you are a twenty three year old woman," he says with mock sincerity, staring incredulously into my eyes and giving a smile at my returning glare. "You are in the prime of your life. Grab your bag, Catnip," he says. "We're going clubbing."

**I'm still trying to find my groove in this story, so sorry if this seems a bit…off. Reviews are cherished, so please spread the love!**


	3. Secrets

**Hope this is an okay follow up - this is sort of a side story, so updates will be kinda slow.**

We have to go over twenty miles just to find a club - District Twelve certainly isn't a "party district", though it's not like we'd ever claim to be. But we finally managed to locate the loud, annoying place Gale called the "club" , even though I protested the whole way.

Eardrum shattering music blares through the speakers, and the room is almost pitch black. It is hot and crowded and so loud that I had to cover my ears when I first stepped in, slipping down into an empty chair at the bar and sulking.

I had never been to a club - never even gone to a party, really. But the more drinks I had, the more fun it was.

I was doing anything but sulking now - the opposite, in fact. I had never thought dancing could be so fun, nor alcohol. I felt a bit like Haymitch, downing bottle after bottle endlessly.

I lose my balance and fall into a chair. The drink in my hand sloshes onto my leg, leaving a dark stain on the dress Gale had thought was "pretty" .

"Hey…Gale?"

I hear his voice, and he comes next to me. "Yeah?"

"I sorta can't see right now," I say, turning in the direction of his voice. I go a bit too far, and grab his arm to steady myself.

He laughs. "No problem. It's late, anyway. Let's go home."

I hiccup. "_My_ home. And just to keep the record straight you _are not_ sleeping anywhere near my and Peeta's bed."

He gives a chuckle. "Hm…maybe you're not drunk enough. Wanna stay a while longer?"

I give him my best glare while trying not to fall over. "Don't try anything. I may be _slightly _intoxicated, but I'm not an idiot."

He rolls his eyes. "Slightly isn't the word you're looking for, Catnip. Here, I'll help you up." He grabs me by the shoulders, and I can't help the slight thrill that runs down my spine. Dammit, this is why I don't drink. Drinking leads to bad decisions - really bad decisions if you're drinking with a man as attractive as Gale Hawthorne.

I keep a tight hold on the back of his jacket as he leads me through the crowds of yelling, sweaty people and toward the entrance. He pushes open the door, and I'm hit with a blast of cold air. I blink in the dull light of the streetlamps outside as he grabs my hand and leads me out. We head over to his car - a beat up, rusty old thing that he had found parked outside a dump in Two. It still ran, though you could barely justify it as a decent car. The seats smelled like urine and there were suspicious stains all over the interior.

"So…who wants to drive?" Despite sounding a lot less drunk then I feel I am, I don't miss the slight slur in his voice.

"You sound less drunk," I say, blindly feeling for the passenger side's door handle. "And I don't know how to drive."

He laughs. "Yeah. That's a good point." He hops behind the wheel, rubbing his eyes and turning the key. The car gave a low whirring sound, but didn't start. He tried again, twisting the key more furiously. The same sound emitted. He hit the steering wheel in frustration.

"Dammit! I hate it when this happens!" He sighs, then jiggles the keys one more time. Nothing happens.

It might have been the alcohol, but I didn't really mind. I wasn't ready to go home, as weird as that is. Peeta and I were always the couple that went home early, retiring to bed to watch a movie together and eat some popcorn, then go to bed.

"Is it broken?" I ask, taking my own turn and giving the keys a twist. This time, it doesn't even make a sound.

He groans. "It was acting funny all the way to Twelve - but it's a shitty car anyways, so I thought it might not be so bad. Why am I always wrong?" He puts his face in his hands.

I give a half smile. "We just have rotten luck. Combined, it's even worse."

He chuckles darkly, then hops out of the car. I follow him as he walks down the sidewalk.

"Where are you going?" I ask.

"We need to find a hotel - we can catch a hover bus back to Twelve in the morning."

"What? Why don't we just catch a hover bus tonight?" I ask, nearly running to keep up with his broad strides. My arms were starting to prickle with goosebumps, and I wished I had worn something else besides this silly, short dress.

He turns toward me, face incredulous. "You haven't been on a hover bus at night, have you?" he asks.

It was true. I - Katniss Everdeen, the Mockinjay, the girl who had gone into the Games and survived twice, headed a Rebellion, and killed more innocent people than I would like to admit - had never been on a hover bus at all. I did see it running around at night from time to time - the blaring florescent headlights were hard to miss.

"No," I admit.

He shudders. "Trust me, you're lucky. The things I have seen…"

I tune him out, searching the street signs for anything that resembles a hotel. It isn't long before I find something - a dirty old sign saying "Sunny Stay Inn". Above it, a dilapidated one story building struggles to stay up. I point it out to Gale.

He laughs. "I don't know Katniss. It looks a bit…shady." He looks at me as if I am a naïve child.

"I can handle shady, Gale," I say firmly, already walking up the concrete steps and toward the door.

With a heavy sigh, he follows me. We open the door to something that looks like a main office, and are met with dim florescent lighting and the smell of mold.

A person is at the desk, half asleep with bags under his eyes and a little bit a of drool coming from the corner of his mouth. He doesn't even notice us as we first walk in.

Gale rings the little bell on the desk loudly. The guy grunts, waking up and whipping his head around.

"I wasn't asleep I sw-" His face relaxes as he realizes its just a couple of customers. "Oh. Sorry - thought you were Boss." He laughs. "Eh, he wouldn't be here this late. He's never here."

Gale taps the desk impatiently. "Yeah, yeah. Can we get a room?"

The guy laughs, then looks me up and down appraisingly, as if I am a horse for show. Then he smirks.

"She's not drunk enough," he tells Gale. "You can see it in her eyes."

Gale laughs along with him, as if its some big joke, and I angrily slam my hand down onto the desk. "We _are not_ sleeping together, no matter how drunk I am," I say exasperatedly. "Can we just get a room for a night?"

The guy, still chortling at his joke, nods. "Sure, sure. But be advised, I doubt you'll get much sleep. The noise level in this place is over the top."

Gale nods. "Doesn't matter. We just need a place to wait out the night."

The guy shrugs, then gives Gale the keys. He raises his fist, then does some complicated handshake as if they are best friends and have known each other their whole life.

I look at Gale questioningly as we leave through the door and head out to find building "34."

"It's a guy thing," he says dismissively, as if that explains it all.

When we finally find it, I have my first misgivings. The door of room 34 screams "Inhabitable", with the mold growing at the bottom, rotting wood, and a door handle held on by tape. Gale twists it open, and it falls off again.

"We'll get it later," he says, stepping into the room.

I am right - this is definitely not the best place to spend the night. Dead cockroaches litter the suspiciously brown carpet, a thin coat of mold dots the curtains, and there is a suspicious rust red stain streaking the wall.

I plug my nose and walk in further - I realize there is only one bed.

Gale notices too, smirking at me. "Well, I guess this means -"

"-You're sleeping on the ground," I finish, smiling back at him. He sighs, but goes to the closet to see if there are any spare blankets.

Already completely exhausted, I pull back the cover of the bed (no sheets, I realize) ready to fall in and immediately clonk out.

Instead of being greeted by soft white sheets, a nest of writhing cockroaches waits for me, crawling all over the bed. They skitter under the covered pillow, away from the light.

"Urgh, gross," I groan, then take the phone (cord cut, of course) and smash a couple that didn't get the memo to escape.

"Still got your reflexes, I see," comes a voice behind me, and I turn to see Gale smiling and clutching a pile of ratted blankets. "Should I get some more?"

I shudder - if there was one thing living on Victor's Lane was nice, it was the fact that there were never pests lurking around in the most inconvenient places. "Please."

We grab all the blankets from the closet and make two pads on the floor, turning on the lamp light and laying down. Despite being itchy, the blankets are soft and warm, and I wrap myself into them.

I feel like a kid again - like I'm having a weird flashback. I remember being younger, before the Games, snuggling up next to Prim by the fire, pitching blanket forts and roasting bits of toast in the fire. The memory feels like its from a different time - a different century. I'm different now, and I know it.

It feels the same way, here with Gale now. Like we're the best of friends - the kind that swap secrets and would die for each other.

But it still doesn't stop the past from sneaking in and spoiling everything - I think of how he might have killed Prim, how he had changed into a person I barely recognized. This isn't the same Gale I had gone hunting in the forest with so many years ago. He is totally different, an entity that was hard to even associate with Gale.

But I want to get to know him, to figure out who this man was. Maybe we can still be friends, after this crazy leave from responsibility was over. It is highly doubtful, though - Gale is one of those men who skitters in and out all throughout all your life, weaving in pain and sorrow, happiness and love, as they went. Definitely not something I need. I always seem to want what's worst for me, don't I?

Gale stretches out in his blankets, giving a yawn. He looks about ready to drift off.

But I want answers. "You never told me," I say. "What did you do in District Two?"

Just like that, his eyes snap back open, but he doesn't look at me. Instead, he avoids my gaze, looking out the grimy window above us. "Well, you know, stuff for the new government. Work." He says this all smoothly, but I can tell immediately that it is a lie. Gale might have changed, but not that much.

"And?" I prompt, propping myself up on my elbows and looking down at him.

His eyes finally flicker to me, just for a second, and I can see something in them. Not the joking, light-hearted kind of eyes that had been on his face, but something deeper. Pain - I can recognize it anywhere, having seen it in my own eyes so many times.

I stare at him for a little longer, pushing closer, until he closes his eyes and sighs.

"It's complicated," he murmurs.

I run my hand through my hair. "Isn't it always?"

He nods, then frowns, looking as if he is wondering how to tell me. I can tell that whatever it is, it is important.

"I guess I should start at the beginning," he says finally, then turns around and digs in his pants pocket.

He pulls something out, then shows it to me. A picture.

Madge Undersee, her arm wrapped tightly around Gale's waist, smiles up at me from it.

**Sorry about these last ending paragraphs - pretty poor writing - but I wrote them while half-asleep and am too lazy to rewrite. Review, it makes me happy! Haha, not the best reason, but whatever.**


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